


A Yellow Hyacinth

by Morwynn



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Characters Writing Fanfiction, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morwynn/pseuds/Morwynn
Summary: When the Novices start their own smut-writing ring, Moiraine finally decides to try her hand, but courtship rituals in Cairhien aren't as titillating to her friends as they are to her.





	A Yellow Hyacinth

By their second year, the Novices in Moiraine’s cohort had formed a fairly robust underground smuggling ring for a certain type of illicit product: words. Naughty words, to be precise. They could only pass around the hidden copy of _Hearts of Flame_ so many times before they knew all the stories by heart. They yearned for more; they looked to each other to create it on scraps of stolen paper and the backs of graded work. 

Of course Myrelle shone as the stand-out success, her Ebou Dari roots serving her honorably in the undertaking. Siuan had been the surprise rising star, her fish metaphors having found an entirely new niche market in the genre. Intimidated and still grappling with her keen sense of propriety, Moiraine had not had the gumption to join the ring as an active writer. Until now. 

Siuan had said to write from the heart, write down what she wanted, what she dreamed. Myrelle said to think like a man, predict what he’d want, and then triple it. Moiraine decided to start with Siuan’s advice. But from the looks on her friends’ faces as they crowded over Moiraine’s little slip of paper, her tastes apparently left much to be desired in the other girls. 

_His hungry eyes lingered over her pale wrist, peeking through her ivory lace cuff, as she--a Marchioness of House Riatin--poured him--a mere Baron, and of House Chuliandred, no less-- a cup of tea. As she set the kettle down and reached for the cup of fine Sea Folk Porcelain, a slight flick of her wrist pushed her lace cuff back another inch, revealing a sliver of the smooth, white skin of her forearm to his eager eyes. Had she done it on purpose? he wondered. Could she be saying what he thought she was saying?_

_He did not have to wonder much longer. As she offered him the teacup and saucer, her forefinger ever so slightly grazed his own in the transfer, her eyes looking deeply into his. She might as well have opened her fan and tapped it three times to her right wrist! The boldness of this Riatin coquette emboldened him in turn. Oh yes, tonight, when he had his servant leave his calling card at her country estate, it would be accompanied by nothing less than a hyacinth. A_ yellow _hyacinth._

Siuan was looking unimpressed and Myrelle wore a look of open disappointment. 

“This is a good start,” Siuan began gently, if hesitantly, “but… where’s the rest? Where’s the… action?” 

Moiraine almost didn’t know how to answer and she wasn’t sure she could if she did. She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks; it was enough to put these thoughts to paper, it was another to say them aloud! 

“Where’s the action? It’s almost nothing but action!” she exclaimed a little defensively. But the criticism of her work only revealed to her how much she actually stood by it. “The wrist! The eye contact! The hyacinth! From a Baron of House Chuliandred!” 

She clasped her hands to her heart, her cheeks flushing, her eyes far-off and dreamy, her lips curving up in a smile as she savored the scandalous thought. She looked back at her friends. Still nothing. 

“Ugh. Fine,” Moiraine conceded. “I’ll just have to _show_ you what a yellow hyacinth with a calling card means. It’s a more effective rhetorical strategy than telling, anyway.” 

And with a downright devilish little smirk that Siuan would understand better than the text, Moiraine led her pillowfriend to her room by the hand.


End file.
